


A Long Way from New York

by Privilegedesire (Llama)



Category: CW Network RPF, Gossip Girl RPF
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Meeting the Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-03
Updated: 2009-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-22 05:27:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/234334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama/pseuds/Privilegedesire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ed's nervous about taking Chace home for Christmas, but he's not sure why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Long Way from New York

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for Ed being cruel to Stevenage, but it's traditional in the UK to loathe your home town until you're at least 35, when you're allowed to get homesick on special occasions. Assuming you ever leave it, anyway.

Ed's not a planner by nature.

He'd like to be Machiavellian, like to be the one pulling the strings. It's part of what he loves about playing Chuck Bass; he loves that people think he might be similarly blessed with cunning.

Last time he said that to Chace, Chace laughed himself sick. Really. He laughed until he vomited half a bottle of vodka all over the bathroom, and then Ed was the one laughing. Ed might not be cunning, but he prides himself on being incredibly petty.

So although the fact that he and Chace are on a plane heading off to the UK for Christmas should by rights be some complex strategy to get to spend more time together, it's actually more that last year at the Crawfords', when they were stretched out on huge leather couches washing down roast duck and something fiddly involving cranberries with a wine Ed couldn't even pronounce sober, Chace had said, "So next year we could visit your folks, yeah?"

Because Chace, as Ed has found to his cost, is planner enough for both of them.

Chace runs his life to a schedule. To several schedules. He has a gym schedule, a reading schedule, and even though Ed tears it up regularly, he even plans out his meals on a chart so he doesn't eat the same thing twice in one week. Someone told him variety was healthy, but healthy is only having one cigarette for breakfast as far as Ed is concerned, and he wants no part of it.

"Two days for sightseeing in Stevenage?" Ed says blankly, when he can't delay looking at their Christmas schedule any longer. "You do know they built most of the current town in the sixties?"

"It was a very creative decade in Britain," Chace says, but he looks worried. "Wasn't it?"

"Yeah." Ed can't dispute that, but he doesn't want Chace to expect too much from an officially designated New Town. They didn't even get cows like Milton Keynes. "But there's only so much you can do with concrete."

"Maybe we can fit in a visit to your Aunt Margaret after all, then," Chace says, and Ed wishes he'd kept his mouth shut.

It doesn't even have the decency to be snowing properly when they land. London is grey; grey skies, grey sludge on the edges of the pavements, grey pigeons taking to the high-up ledges of buildings as they find a taxi to the station.

Ed has had a sinking feeling for hours, but he can't place the source of it until they're on the train. Chace is too clean, too bright, against the worn blue-green seats. Same old city, same old trains, same old well-travelled route, but Chace is new, shiny. Out of place.

"What?" Chace says, because Ed is staring at him, but Ed just chews on his nails and ignores Chace's hand on his knee. They're silent when they emerge at Stevenage, Ed abrupt and just this side of rude with the taxi driver, and only Chace's perfect manners get them through dinner without awkwardness.

Chace is washing up the dishes with Ed's mum, laughing at some story she's telling, when Ed looks up to find his father shaking his head. "Thought you'd got over that phase," he says, and for a minute Ed thinks he means Chace, but his parents have never had a problem with that. They've put them in the big spare room with the double bed, after all. Chace's parents are still pretending they don't know.

Ed can pretend as well. "He's a nice boy, don't push him away," his dad says, and Ed thinks it's time he walked the dog.

"We could have gone to Texas," Ed whispers when they're lying in the dark that night, not touching. "Or stayed in New York."

Chace is still, far too still to be asleep. He's a restless sleeper, every bit as restless as Ed is when he's awake. "I don't understand."

Neither does Ed, really. That's sort of the problem. "Never mind."

"No," Chace says, and he's rolling over, reaching for Ed's shoulder. "Tell me."

"I love my family." Ed doesn't mean it to sound defensive, but he can't help it. "I love my home."

"I know that." Chace sounds bewildered, like he doesn't _know_ , can't see it. When he reaches out to switch the lamp on, Ed can see the concern on his face. "Ed, what's wrong?"

Ed could write a poem, or maybe a song, but he can't do that now, not when Chace is looking at him, waiting. But maybe…

"Why are we coming in here?" Chace asks, blinking in the light. He's only wearing shorts, so Ed shoves a blanket at him, wraps him up. "Oh."

"This is my room," he says, and perches on the end of the single divan, ignoring the creak of springs and trying not to think of Chace's sunny expanse of floorboards back home, the huge bed with the enormous fluffy comforter. "I mean, it was when I was growing up."

"I don't know anything about soccer, really," Chace says, but his fingers are all over the posters, the torn-out pages from magazines. "But isn't that guy—"

"Beckham," Ed says, like other people say _God_. "Yeah." At least he's taught Chace something, a little piece of Ed's soul in there forever, whatever happens with them.

"Cool," Chace says, and pulls the blanket round him more tightly. He moves to the bookcase, full of the relics of random teenage obsessions; a book on chess strategy looking stuffy and uncomfortable next to 'Glamour Photography for Beginners'. But Chace just smiles, and saves his questions for the photographs in front of them. "Who are all these people?"

"That's me and Jimmy racing our bikes, we were—" Ed has to think, then he laughs. "I dunno, seven maybe?" The next one is easy, a year photo from school, not long before they left. There's a couple of the band too, early ones, and-- he hesitates before he picks the next one up, but this is what he's come here for, he realizes, so he forces himself. "And this—"

Chace takes the frame from him. It's a delicate silver one, nothing like the rest. The girl in the picture is pretty, more than pretty. Blonde, fine-featured, amazing smile. "Who is she?"

"Sophie Fisher." Ed isn't sure why he hasn't mentioned her to Chace; they swapped life histories within a week of meeting, and there's nothing else, nothing, that Chace doesn't know.

Okay, so maybe he knows why.

"I met her doing a play, she was the lead and I was just some random guy. Never believed in love at first sight until then."

Chace smiles, and moves closer to him. Ed can feel the blanket brushing against his arm, but he doesn't make a move himself. Ed's the one that's been acting like a wanker, but this one will be up to Chace.

"We went out for a few weeks, and I met her parents. She lived out of town, big detached place, but nothing really fancy. Her father was a doctor, her mother a psychologist, so not much different from mine."

Different enough, though. "I invited her here eventually, and she seemed fine. Then she dumped me, and all I heard from her friends was how uncouth my family was, how cramped the house was, and how tasteless with its cheap wallpaper and tacky pictures."

"What a bitch."

Chace seems genuinely outraged, but Ed shrugs. "I made my parents redecorate before I brought anyone home again, and no, I'm not proud of that."

"Dude, you were what, sixteen?" Chace is still looking at the picture as if it holds a clue.

"Just, yeah." Young enough to swear off love forever. Old enough for the vow to last nearly five years.

"We're all morons at sixteen," Chace says firmly. The bed dips alarmingly as he sits next to Ed, slides an arm around his waist. "And if you think I'm anything like her," he nods at the silver frame once more standing on the shelf, "then you still are."

Ed doesn't. He really, really doesn't. It's just… "Five years," he says, and he knows Chace knows what he means when he sees his eyes crinkle up.

"Did you kiss her on this bed?" Chace asks, his breath warm against Ed's lips.

"Yeah." Ed doesn't wait for Chace to lean in, because there's something in him light and warm now, something he didn't even realize wasn't here before. Chace's lips are soft, he thinks much softer than Sophie's ever were. He can't really remember.

"Did she touch you?" Chace asks, when he pulls back from the kiss, and his hand is under the blanket, inside the pajama pants Ed's wearing, and Ed thinks maybe he'd lie if she hadn't.

"Sometimes," Ed says, though he wouldn't swap Chace's bigger hand for her tiny, inexperienced grip, not ever. Chace pushes him back, climbs on up, and his hair is shaggy around his face, his tongue caught between his teeth in concentration. Ed can't help reaching up, stroking his face, pulling him down to his chest.

"How about this," Chace says, and he's flushed, grinning, when he slides down Ed's body. "Did the bitch suck you off, did she do that for you?"

Ed can hardly speak when Chace starts mouthing at his dick, but he manages to nod his head. "She was crap, though," he says, and Chace's pleased smile warms him, almost as much as the mouth that swallows him down, the hands that hold his hips in place.

"I know she didn't do this," Chace says, when Ed is face down and panting, Chace's tongue fresh from his ass. "She didn't, did she? Didn't use her tongue, her fingers on you. In you." Chace knows by now just what Ed needs, how relaxed he needs to be, how long before he can take three fingers, beg for Chace's cock.

"Only you," Ed gasps, and that's something he's never said, never given Chace before, and when Chace kisses his neck he thinks maybe he should have, but Chace takes it like the gift it is; takes it carefully and slowly, then hard and fast, just the way Ed likes it.

"Bet this wasn't on your schedule," Ed says when he gets his breath back. They're both under the blanket now, close and sticky, and the bed wasn't built for two so it's a good thing they don't care if they wake up glued together.

"Sure it was." Chace huffs down Ed's ear. "Right after 'see Ed's childhood room' and before 'fuck in the lounge when Ed's parents are out'.

Ed's _almost_ sure Chace is joking, but he didn't really look that closely. And this is _Chace_. "Good plan," is all he says, and the last thing he hears before sleep overtakes him is Chace chuckling into his hair.

If Ed ever had any doubt about the coolness of his parents, it's gone the following morning. When they wake there are two mugs of coffee next to the bed, still steaming hot.

"I make a much better girlfriend than Sophie," Chace says, flipping the photo face down when they leave the room.

And even if Chace wants to schedule the rest of his life for him, Ed can't bring himself to disagree with that.


End file.
